Poet's Day

Hot on your own lusty heels

You trampled Elysian Fields

Like a false witness conceals

A Poet content with his skill

You held the muse against her will

Made mountains out of molehills

Your lust did not stop there

Every dream was a nightmare

But, ah- this is how a Poet prepares

Prone to exaggerate

Prone to exaggerate

It’s Poet’s Day

Every laugh, every cry

By exaggerating made you high

You might as well have told a lie

Like the theme of the Mare’s Nest

“excitement over what does not exist”

Is how the rest of the day was pissed

Pissing Off Early Today

Is English for P.O.E.T.’s Day

And my, does an Englishman exaggerate!

Prone to exaggerate

Prone to exaggerate

It’s Poet’s Day

A feeling of euphoria

Intoxicated by your gloria

A resurrected Victorian

Over wine you would compete

With other Poets on Mission St

Who could make words taste most sweet

Prone to exaggerate

Prone to exaggerate

It’s Poet’s Day